


Loth-Cat Tactics

by Skellington101



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, Hurt/Comfort, Job Burnout, Light Angst, Light Injuries, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, a nap and a vacation, but with captured criminals, fox needs a hug, it somehow works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23257609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skellington101/pseuds/Skellington101
Summary: Another criminal was dumped onto his doorstep. It was the fourth one this week.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Thorn (Star Wars), Quinlan Vos/CC-1010 | Fox
Comments: 16
Kudos: 347
Collections: Commander Fox





	Loth-Cat Tactics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Forestgreengirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestgreengirl/gifts).



> HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY, VOX! Here's a small gift for this tiny ship we have!

Most of Fox's days started off terribly.

At this point, he'd taken it as a fact of life, being the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, a sparse security force that struggled to protect the trillion sentients under its care. As it was, he used to get calls every waking minute about another terrorist attack, attempted assassinations on the Senators, and any other manner of crime near or in the Senate.

Once the actual paperwork was formally organized, it didn’t get any better, but at least he was able to organize shift hours and guard patrols, as well as shore leave for the GAR.

Getting the Guard organized into separate district units was difficult enough when working alongside the Security Force that already policed the planet, and trying to say it was for the protection of the Senators and the individuals in their districts was useless. He knew better by that point anyways.

Now, his hours were filled with guarding different Senators, which was the Senate Guard's job, but they weren't doing their duties very well, dealing with any attempted conspiracies against the Chancellor, and any Jedi trouble that slipped through the ranks. And, datapads upon datapads of more criminal activity and GAR reports.

Somehow, he'd been assigned all the GAR flimsiwork, which made him want to scream because most Jedi couldn't file formal reports to save their lives. It definitely was the Chancellor's job, but he couldn't exactly argue against the man who held most, if not all, of the power on Coruscant.

So, more work for him. At least he had a system for it, and not the incorrigible excuse of a filing system that the Chancellor had. He was able to make some sort of daily routine, which had to be some sort of Force miracle, as the front-liners called it.

Wake up in the morning, have three cups of caf if he was lucky, and be pulled off to guard duty or an emergency comm about another bounty hunter verging on the Senate. Have another four cups or as many as he could before Tonic noticed, file reports for the Chancellor and the rest of the Guard until he was too stressed, have his few minutes of crying, then crash in the cot he moved into his small office.

All in all, his usual schedule, save for any disruptions that happened, which was probably too often to say he even had a schedule.

But now, there was a new addition to that schedule.

Another criminal was dumped on his doorstep. It was the fourth one this week.

Hog-tied and bound securely, a familiar horned Thelessian glared balefully at him, a gag tucked in his mouth. His scales darkened with anger and he yelled, but it was muffled by the gag.

Fox sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I thought we were past this, L’ran."

What would have been a reply was stopped by the gag and he slumped back to the ground, helpless. The thief hadn’t learned his lesson the first time, then. They had regulars around the Guard prison, but L’ran was a more familiar face than most, given that he liked to deal with any shady trader in every corner of Coruscant.

"Right," Fox drawled. He reached down and hooked an arm around his, pulling him up and slicing through the ropes around his legs. Dragging him inside the Guard building, he was met with a couple wolf-whistles and cheers.

Fox loved his _vod’e_ dearly. They were under his watch, he kept them safe from themselves, and trained them to be the best Guardsmen they could.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to kick the everloving _osik_ out of them sometimes. He kept his face carefully blank, but said sternly, "For every whistle I heard, you have an hour of extra patrol time."

Fox smirked internally at the shouts of displeasure and misery, but he ignored them, glancing over at where Thorn was leaning over his desk to pester Thire with something on his datapad.

“Thorn,” he gestured to the captured thief, who was still glaring at him, “I suppose you and the _other troopers_ —,” he looked out at the rest of the troopers, and most of them startled, scrambling to look busy again, “—didn’t see the criminal oh so nicely left at our door? Or did your bucket get dirty?”

Thorn, his steadfast supporter and closest brother, was no exception to any sort of trouble that the _vod’e_ got into. He was probably the one to teach them, annoyingly enough. And yet somehow, he was stuck at Fox’s side, like glue on a bantha’s hide.

Thorn grinned brightly at him, a suspiciously mischievous gleam in his brown eyes as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well, we were about to bring him, but I didn’t want to disturb what was clearly a present meant for someone else. I think you had it well in hand, _Alor_.”

Fox huffed and scrubbed at his face, hoping his face wasn’t already turning red. “This is _not_ becoming a pattern, not if I can help it.”

Stone deadpanned, “I think, by definition, having it happen four times is already a pattern.” He shrugged from his seat at the desk, “And since they all pertain to your cases, well, they’re definitely for you, _Alor_.”

“ _Someone has an admirer_ ,” Thorn sang out, expression conspicuously blank when Fox turned back to glare at him, as if anyone else in the company would openly tease him and it wouldn’t be him. Besides, Fox saw the mirth underneath his skin as easily as he could read any Senator and Thorn was much less subtle. Next to the Commander himself, Stone’s lieutenant, Kaden, set down his datapad and spoke up.

"You know, sir," He started conversationally, which was never a good sign from him, "I read somewhere that certain creatures, like Loth-cats, leave dead animals or offerings like that as 'gifts' for their loved ones, in order to show that they can provide for their mate… Can’t say for sure if that’s what it is, but it’s an _awfully_ similar situation, Commander. " Across from them, Thorn cracked and dissolved into gleeful laughter at his desk. The other troopers weren’t doing any better.

Fox sighed, reminding himself to breathe and think about potential consequences of breaking your troopers in sparring matches. _Tonic would be upset_ , he grumbled to himself. He was still gonna give them both a beatdown when he had the time. Whenever that would be.

" _Lieutenant Kaden,_ thanks for volunteering to process and book L’ran, off you go." He shoved the restrained criminal at Kaden none-too-gently, catching a glimpse of mocking amusement in the thief’s eyes.

Kaden sighed but kept his mouth shut, grabbing the criminal to haul him off for another couple of nights in their temp cells. By the time the doors shut behind them, Thorn had recovered enough to give him a knowing look and settle back down in his seat.

‘ _Loth-cat_ ,’ Thorn mouthed at him teasingly, and then swiveled back around in his seat when Fox scowled at him.

Fox deliberately forced himself not to think about what the implications of what the fact meant and shoved the thoughts into a small corner of his mind to think about later, clearing his throat and looking expectantly at the guards around him.

“Now that everything is _settled_ , the next patrol starts in twenty minutes. Whoever is on-shift next, get your gear on now, we’re going out early.”

Only a couple muttered swears that time, the shinies seemed to be catching on to the schedule now.

* * *

Fox groaned quietly, dropping down into his chair with a slight wince. The room wavered slightly, but he took a deep breath and steadied himself.

Night settled over Coruscant, or what Fox now called Flimsiwork Hours. Stone was on shift and Thorn took over the night to morning shift on account of the new bounty hunter trying to make his mark by killing a Senator. He didn’t succeed, that was for sure, but the ensuing firefight to take him down before he breached the Senate was intensive, and he used several detonators to try and escape. The _vod’e_ caught him before long, but half a dozen of them were injured, only two in critical condition.

He’d go and check up on them soon, but if he hadn’t ducked away before Tonic arrived, he’d have probably added another number to that list and would’ve gotten manhandled into a cot to stay for the night. And he _definitely_ did not have time for that.

His chestplate was cracked in two places from a blank-range blaster shot and the plastoid was burnt along the edges of his backplate where he was clipped by the radius of a detonator. Probably the worst of it was the state of his helmet, if it wasn’t in pieces on some Coruscant level when it got shot off his head.

That was a rather close-call for him. But he had a lot of those, so he filed it away to think about it later, when there was time. Now, he needed to pull up another requisition form as well, since the Senators didn’t like seeing him without a bucket for long and he’d probably have to borrow a shiny’s.

As it was, he also had to complete the round of reports from today and sign off on some GAR forms so that way he’d be ready for the next batch tomorrow. He reached for a datapad and grit his teeth in pain when it pulled on the burnt skin under his blacks. While he read, he stripped off pieces of his armor, starting with the more superficial parts and leaving the damaged ones for last.

Falling under the focus of work, he managed to stave off the thoughts that rang out in his head and sunk into the monotony of typing out long lines of observation and follow-up orders.

He scanned over the recent casualty counts from GAR reports, pushing down the flood that wanted to bubble up in his stomach and seize up his limbs. _Not now, not now, save it for later, soldier._

For the next hour, he lost himself in his work. Form after form, flimsi stack after flimsi stack, the pile dwindled.

 _The Coruscanti suspect was unable to be identified before fleeing the scene, but Commander Valen hopes to pull up the security footage located from a shop next to the…_ The next lines blurred frustratingly and Fox let the datapad clatter to the desk, burying his face in his shaking hands.

 _Kriff, kriff, karking kriff_.

His adrenaline faded away a while ago, but the everpressing exhaustion remained, making his hands shake more and his chest tighten up like a vice had taken ahold of it. The bruises dotted across his whole body ached and the burns on his back were pulsing in tune to the migraine building up in his skull.

The vice was tightening around his throat, like the garrote wires of Aurra Sing were slicing through his skin and cutting off his breath. _He had to focus, keep going, don’t think about it, damn it—!_

Something panged, deep in his chest and he wanted to curl up there and shrivel away, just for a brief moment, so he wouldn’t have to keep going, and finally relieve the chronic ache that settled over him. He was slowly drowning, water closing up over his lips and flooding his lungs, his body being dragged down into the deep.

_He was so tired._

But he would be fine, he had to be fine. Otherwise, all of the GAR would topple and Senators would start being killed, and then _all of his vod’e would be vulnerable._

Fox had to finish, had to keep going or otherwise it would swallow him up whole. He had to be perfect in this one thing even if it killed him because this is where the _vod’e_ came to rest and be safe and unwind, and if he couldn’t even do _that—!_

The knock startled Fox out of his spiraling thoughts and he straightened, hissing quietly when it pulled at the burns. His breaths stuttered in his chest and he struggled to slow it down. _Get it together, soldier, you’re better than this, look at yourself, it’s pathetic_ —

Digging his fingers painfully into his arm, he forced himself to push away the lingering thoughts and scraped himself back together. He scrubbed at his face and mustered up as much of a composure as he could, standing up to go open the door and nearly falling over from the vertigo shifting and tilting the room.

Swallowing down the nausea, he supported himself on the edge of the desk until the fuzziness around his vision faded a bit and then reached for the panel next to the door. His hand still trembled heavily and he failed to press the button the first few times.

Finally pressing the comm button, he asked quietly, “Who is it?”

“Foxy!” _Oh, osik._ “Did you forget I was stopping by today?” Quinlan Vos’s staticky voice cut into the silence of the room and he wanted to cry in frustration.

Fox bit down the bitter words that wanted to escape him, and replied back, “I’m busy, Vos. Come back another time.”

As quickly as he said it, Vos retorted back, “You’re always busy, Foxy, why is this time any different?”

Vos was another unusual disruption to his routine. He started popping in up a few months back and then never stopped pestering them, lurking around the underbelly while he was around. Their first meeting was...chaotic, to say the least. After that, he bothered Fox for different case information and kept interrupting ops.

At his breaking point, Fox confronted him and one thing led to another, and now he had his own crazy _Jetii_ to look after, since the man decided to stick around.

While they didn’t exactly trust each other, Fox had grown used to the company, and he didn’t know if Quinlan was the same way, but after a few drinks and terrible life choices, there was something there. It was more comforting than he’d like to admit, and it left some sort of feeling swirling around in his stomach.

Fox restrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. _He’s being persistent today_. Not like Vos wasn’t always this annoying, but he was being more insistent than usual. “I don’t know, maybe having _work_ to do and reports to file. Don’t you have something better to do, like cause trouble for the Guards on-duty?”

“This is my something better to do, my charming silver Fox, how will I ever contribute to this committed and loving relationship with you if you send me away?”

_One day, I’m going to strangle him._

Fox scoffed weakly, "What committed relationship? I slept with you _twice_."

"Nope, that first time counted, so _three_. You just don't want to admit it because it was so great." Fox heard the grin in his voice and could practically see the cheeky glint of the golden stripe on his face wrinkling on his nose.

Admittedly, it was, but he wasn’t ready to tell that to Vos, who would undoubtedly remember it and be inordinately smug for however long he stuck around. And his ego was already big enough.

"I _will_ ignore you and lock this door in your face."

"I'll get in through the back window, even if you boarded it up."

"You do anyways, why do I even try anymore?" Fox groaned and let the door slide open, Vos slipping through with ease with something under his arm. He shut the door behind him and sighed deeply, leaning against the wall beside the door for a moment before pushing himself upright. The room wavered again, and he kept one hand on the wall to steady himself.

“You know me, Foxy, I never listen.“ He plopped the object down on Fox’s desk, which turned out to be his helmet. Something in his chest unclenched with the knowledge that the tech in his HUD wouldn’t be tampered with and he nearly sagged in relief.

The helmet itself was barely held together, the plastoid shattered and missing in sections. Melted and burned circuitry peaked out of where his visor was broken completely, blackened edges surrounding where the shot hit. He gazed at it resignedly, already thinking of the requisition form it would need, when a hand brushed his shoulder.

“I found that in one of the lower levels. A couple dealers were looking to make a credit or two, saying that they shot the Commander of the Coruscant Guard down. Happen to know anything about that, Fox?” Vos looked at him imploringly, as if he didn’t just glean part of the firefight just by touching his shoulder.

Fox sighed deeply, then sniped back, “I might. Happen to know anything about the criminals from my case files showing up on my doorstep?”

Vos winced, then stepped back sheepishly. “I might know something about that.”

“Wonderful. Then, you can tell me that, along with why you’re here in the first place.” Fox went to go back to his desk, but Vos’s tanned, muscled arm stopped him.

“I will, I will. But first,” Vos tapped his chest with a finger, “you need patching up. I swear, you’re almost as bad as Obes.” There was an odd look in his eyes that Fox couldn’t quite decipher and his expression was softened slightly. It was pretty similar to the one Thorn used when Fox crawled out of his office at dawn to get more caf.

“That isn’t—You don’t have to do that, Vos.” His voice caught and Fox glanced back towards his desk, at the remaining stack of datapads. But Vos stepped over and blocked his view, wrapping a hand around his arm and gently pulling him along.

“You’re right,” He murmured quietly,” I don’t _have_ to. But, I will anyways. And I thought I told you to call me Quinlan.” The corner of his mouth ticked up into a crooked smile and—

Something in his chest flipped and swelled, and he couldn’t quite comprehend the rush of emotions that ran through him, that buzzed in his veins and warmed his skin. “Oh,” he said dumbly, and berated his hazy thoughts for the many other things he _wanted_ to say.

Vos—Quinlan, it was Quinlan now—pushed him down onto the cot in the corner and he sat wearily. The place on his arm where Quinlan touched him kept tingling after he’d removed his hand, and the Kiffar was now moving over to the cabinet where his medkit was stored.

“So,” Quinlan began, pulling bandages and bacta cream from the kit, “A firefight, huh? What was it this time, a terrorist cell or an assassination attempt?”

Fox winced and gritted his teeth as Quinlan slowly peeled back his blacks away from the burns on his shoulders and back. “Just another— _kark!_ —A-another bounty hunter, trying to get a Senator’s head for credits.” He hissed softly and took a steadying breath while Quinlan cleaned and applied the bacta cream along the large swaths of reddened and raw skin.

“Sounds exciting,” Quinlan replied, frowning at the deep bruising that purpled his chest and prodding them carefully. Fox let out a ragged groan and he whispered a quiet apology, applying more bacta to his chest.

Once he was done, he wrapped the area in bandages and cupped Fox’s jaw with one hand, jarring his thoughts to a sharp stop. He barely breathed.

“There’s a scrape on your head, I’m surprised that didn’t knock you out right away.” Quinlan dabbed at the cut, prompting a small wince from him, but Fox forced his thoughts away from that and even further away from the warm, callused hand that gripped his jaw.

Fox forced out, “Thorn tells me I’m stubborn like that. And you said you might know something about the criminals that keep, uh, keep mysteriously appearing on my doorstep?” He hoped to some deity in the galaxy that his face wasn’t flushing as hot as it felt.

Quinlan’s eyes widened, but he didn’t look away from what he was doing. “Oh. Yeah, uh, I took a small peek. Only on a couple files, and they were on the way, anyways, I figured you’d appreciate the shortcut.”

Fox snorted. “Oh? And that included when the slaver said you pursued them down thirteen levels and through a warehouse?”

Quinlan shook his head exaggeratedly, brushing his dreadlocks out of the way when they fell into his eyes. He had a little grin on his lips, one filled with self-satisfaction and brashness. “It was only ten levels. And I was planning on taking the detour regardless. Now, you have one more slaver, less work to do, and a little bit more rest than you had before. That makes it worth it, even if I was slammed into a couple crates here and there. Consider a little present from me.”

 _Oh. This crazy, di’kutla Jetii_. Fondness softened his glare into something a little milder, and he huffed gingerly. Part of him wanted to mention his troops comparing him to a loth-cat, but he figured he’d save up the jab for later.

Quinlan placed a bacta patch on his head and smoothed down the edges, bringing Fox to look up at him with his hand. “I’m all finished with you, then, unless you have other hidden injuries that you should probably tell me about.” He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, but Fox waved him off.

“No, I need to get back to my work now—” But as soon as he boosted himself off the cot, the room blurred and his knees buckled. Quinlan swore and caught him, muscular arms keeping him from colliding with the floor and supporting him as the room drifted in and out of focus.

“Sith hells, Foxy, you need to _rest_.” Quinlan set him back down on the cot and sat down next to him, cupping a hand around his neck and steadying him.

“No, no, I have to work still—” He muttered out, the panic rising in his body and his heart beginning to race at the thought that he might’ve wasted time instead of finishing up the reports.

“Foxy, _please_. Hey, Fox, eyes on me,” Quinlan coaxed, until he finally locked eyes with him. “Focus on me, and _breathe slowly_ , follow my breathing.”

Slowly but surely, Fox came back, shaking limbs and exhaustion weighing down his whole body. Their positions had shifted, so he was in Quinlan’s lap, and the Kiffar was slumped along the length of the cot, still holding him.

He let out another shaky breath, slowly leaning up and pressing his forehead to Quinlan’s. The other man stilled, eyes wide with disbelief. “Thank you,” he mumbled softly, voice cracking at the emotion clawing up into his throat. He brushed a thumb along the golden strip across Quinlan’s face and watched as his warm brown eyes flickered up at his face.

A playful glimmer entered Quinlan’s gaze and he caught Fox’s hand, bringing it up to his mouth and leaving a soft kiss in the palm of his hand, the skin tingling dangerously after that. His breath caught again and he muttered a soft curse, slumping down into the Kiffar’s chest. His face was definitely a bright red now, damn it.

Quinlan chuckled, then replied, “Of course, Foxy, I couldn’t let the Commander holding the entirety of the GAR together suffer because he pushes himself too hard, now could I?”

“If you say so,” he said dubiously, and ignored the follow-up pout from Quinlan to snuggle closer into his embrace.

“I guess I’ll stay right here, then, if you’re giving me no other choice.” Quinlan murmured smugly, smirking down at him.

“Sure,” Fox mumbled into his chest, “You’re also staying here because you got into trouble again and you need a place to lie low.” From his spot on Quinlan’s chest, he felt the Kiffar tense up underneath him.

“And...you’re okay with that?” Quinlan questioned bemusedly. He relaxed back into the mattress and shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

Fox snorted weakly, “I think it’s a little _late_ to care about your criminal escapades. They don’t pay me nearly enough to, but—” he yawned, “—for the most part, I know you're doing something important.” He buried his face further into the warmth of the Jedi’s robes and Quinlan curled his arms around him, carefully avoiding his bandaged side. A hand ran through his hair and he couldn’t quite bring himself to protest when he practically melted into the touch. A hum of approval rumbled in Quinlan’s chest.

 _Like a big, protective loth-cat_ , Fox thought drowsily. _His loth-cat_.

Within seconds, his eyes slid closed and he settled into a deep and restful sleep, finally comfortable and relaxed.

**Author's Note:**

> It may not seem as funny but Thorn internally picturing Quinlan as this big, protective Loth-Cat is what got me into this whole scenario.


End file.
